Perfect Storm

It’s the perfect storm. Rumbling thunder sounds of a Saturday night bowling alley with folks clad in ugly shoes and sliding balls down a bumpy lane. A pecan tree’s branches hang low with the weight of saturated leaves and limbs. Lightning flickers like a slow neon sign, old and barely working.  Just a glimmer now and then.  Festive party lights sway in the wind.

MuseBefore the rain came I went to breakfast with the local folks. Award winning writers
among them, not sure. You can be sure
they love good food. Large plates passed with eggs, grits, bacon, and biscuits as I enjoyed my own. I watched the sky grow almost as dark as the Community Coffee in my cup.

Fairhope, the quaint Eastern Shore town, is my muse today. I’m snuggled in a yellow and grey blanket on a buttery soft leather sofa. The TV is on but the volume is mute. Keeping up with the weather map. Storms on the coast can boil up and take over a morning but clear to skies filled with soft white clouds and sunshine for the afternoon.

Whether the rain continues or the sun brightens the day, I have a story to work on. Frank’s in the hospital, heart attack while in the arms of his lover. His best friend who is also his wife’s best friend tries to keep her from pulling the plug on his oxygen. The nurses are threatening her with security measures all the while giving her the go-ahead with their eyes. One speaks up, bold in her approach to healing, “Honey, let him live through this. You have more control over his agony at home.”

Need to go now and see if Frank makes it. Storm or clear skies?

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